


Tutelage

by Azahar



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bottom Arthur, Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Virgin Merlin (Merlin), not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27572455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azahar/pseuds/Azahar
Summary: Tonight, Merlin mused while raking over the coals for the night, he was going to get the crown prince of Camelot to fuck him or die trying. (Or just lose his job, again.)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 237





	Tutelage

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-take, late night, not beta read silly thing because I want a distraction and you might too, don't @ me about my run on sentences and heavy reliance on hyphens pls!
> 
> Added tag for inebriated sex out of an abundance of caution due to brief mention of social drinking before shameless smutty smut commences, written with the author's view that both characters are fully capable of consent.

Tonight, Merlin mused while raking over the coals for the night, he was going to get the crown prince of Camelot to fuck him or die trying. (Or just lose his job, again.)

He’d reached this conclusion for two reasons: even his refined sense of denial and self-preservation could no longer withstand the glint of sun off Arthur’s back as he exited his post-training bath late this morning. And then there was the three or four hours at the Rising Sun after supper where the absolute most hilarious joking material was Merlin’s status as sole virgin in a circle of knights.

After a single pint of fresh harvest brew, Merlin knew he couldn’t at all stop his ears burning fire-red, which just egged on the exceptionally unchivalrous behavior on display. Even bloody _Percy_ had waggled his eyebrows and made a few lewd remarks about country boys and haybales while Arthur guffawed the loudest of them all with his stupid imperfect teeth and his stupid throat tipped back. Well, Merlin wasn’t going to put up with this any longer. It was, all in all, too much. Something had to be done.

“Arthur,” he cleared his throat as his voice cracked, rising to his feet with only the slightest unsteadiness.

“I mean, Arthur.”

“Merlin, come take my shirt.” Arthur had, of course, just dropped said shirt carelessly onto the flagstones while shrugging into his night shift. Merlin gritted his teeth and tried to remember one single positive quality about his future king.

“Arthur, I’ve a favour to ask you.”

An ocean-blue eye glanced suspiciously over a shoulder as Arthur tossed his boot towards the door. “This isn’t about money is it?” He turned around fully, softening into concern and tilting his head. “Is your mother alright?”

“No, yes, nothing like that.” Merlin self-consciously cleared his throat a second time, changing his mind abruptly and deciding a direct tactical approach was best. “It’s more, uh, well, a personal… nothing’s wrong exactly, I just hoped maybe-”

“Oh gods, what have you done now, _Mer_ lin, did you trip and break something priceless again?” An infuriating grin was starting to play around the corner of Arthur’s mouth, and Merlin knew his distracted gaze has got caught there a second too long. He had to stop babbling, had to find the words to somehow ask for–

“I think you ought to bed me, Arthur.”

Ah.

Arthur’s mouth dropped fully open, and Merlin took a moment to congratulate himself for bravery, fiercely resisting the urge to run for the exit as his pulse hammered and sweat prickled on his palms.

“What do you mean, _bed_ you!” Arthur’s hand swept across the air between them. “Merlin, has someone gone and… you know that your duties as my manservant definitely do not include-”

“No, not that either. Just, you know, as a one time thing you could sort of, teach me?”

“What do you mean, teach you?” Arthur looked vaguely affronted.

Merlin wanted badly to say, you’re the only one I trust for this. It’s been lingering with me for months since that border campaign last spring where I said I’d never slept with anyone and you were across the fire from me and our eyes locked. Just then it felt like everyone else in the world had disappeared.

He wanted to say, because I belong to you. Because you’re my destiny.

But Merlin knew Arthur too well, sometimes feeling the push and pull of Arthur-Merlin-Arthur like a tide in his chest, so instead he said in a forcibly casual tone, “you know just the other day, the knights were telling me it’s best to begin with an experienced man. And I know you’re certainly not the _most_ experienced of the Knights, really, so if you’re uncomfortable I can go ask instruction from one of the others, maybe Gwaine or Elyan would–”

“Of course,” Arthur interrupted gruffly, “that’s not necessary.”

Merlin resisted the urge to laugh, meeting Arthur’s eyes and seeing the familiar glow of a challenge taken he always saw the morning of a joust or a hunt.

“I’m plenty experienced,” Arthur sat down slowly on the bed, leaning back on his arms with a smooth, lazy arrogance that Merlin was certain was at least half posturing but still unfairly attractive. “Quite right that you should come to me first.”

So this was how Arthur wanted to strike out into unfamiliar waters, when Merlin would normally be dropping a candle on Arthur’s nightstand and taking his leave.

“Right then,” Merlin shifted his weight, “shall I, uh, get my clothes then?” He was pretty sure disrobing was the usual first step in this sort of thing, but honestly hoping Arthur would start being a bit more bossy like usual.

“In a minute, Merlin. It’s getting cold. Why don’t you come sit over here?” Arthur was eyeing Merlin closely, as he shuffled over and perched a foot away from Arthur. Was that too close to the royal personage, or too far away?

Arthur smiled. “It’s not an execution, Merlin. I shan’t rush you, alright, and the point is to have a bit of fun, so speak up if you aren’t and we’ll call it off.”

Merlin gulped and fell back on a retort, “When you say bit of fun, you mean fun like bashing around with spears in the mud at dawn, don’t you?”

Arthur laughed low, “you think so little of me, Merlin?” and this suddenly felt normal, like them, letting Merlin’s shoulders lower from where they’d drawn up without his permission. “I’ve learned from experience, Highness,” he threw back tartly.

Arthur shoved him companionably with a shoulder. “Insolent peasant. You’ve kissed girls back home, haven’t you? At midsummer or during your bucolic Ealdor barn dances or what have you?”

“You prat. Of course I have!” And Merlin had, a grand total of maybe three times, but he was _not_ going to be telling Arthur that detail. This was the opposite of what he’d expected, this version of Arthur who asked soft questions and watched for Merlin’s next move with the steady, intent gaze Merlin had most often seen him train on new yearlings down at the stable.

“Good. Show me.” Arthur was leaning forward, forward, tipping his head up with a raised eyebrow and just a handspan left between them. Merlin felt a rush of relieved gratitude for Arthur carefully treating this like another one of their things they just did, daring each other to steal Cook’s cooling pies, or sneak out of a feast early, or puzzle out an artefact to save the kingdom again. Merlin bit his lower lip, then tentatively placed a hand on Arthur’s cheek to feel soft skin and stubble, and abruptly covered the prince’s mouth with his own before this all turned out to be another of his foolish dreams.

Before Merlin had fully registered the warmth of kissing Arthur ( _kissing_ Arthur) deep in his stomach all the breath was gone from his body. The kiss seemed to stretch on and on as Merlin’s ears buzzed and his other hand grabbed onto Arthur’s bicep, just before Arthur knocked the hand off and reached around Merlin’s back to pull on his waist. Merlin spared a tiny breathless worry for wondering if Arthur would suddenly become impatient, think Merlin too obnoxious or amateur at this and kick him out? Slowly and unsure, Merlin tried tilting his head to the right, then suddenly their mouths fit in a whole new way. Merlin gave up on trying not to let out a soft sound of wonder as Arthur leaned back, let him lean in… This was so much better than he’d hoped.

When Arthur tipped them sideways to lay on the bed Merlin laughed, suddenly remembering a few weeks back when Arthur had squawked at him for illicitly napping here in the autumn sunshine. Then Arthur’s mouth was moving down his neck, nudging aside his scarf, and Merlin moaned instead and shoved a hand into Arthur’s silky gold hair, breathing the smell of leftover woodsmoke and expensive cedar. This was so different from what kissing had meant in past years, holding hands and pecking the butcher’s daughter after fishing at the creek, or any others that followed. Arthur’s mouth and hands felt like… well, like magic dragging sparks out of Merlin’s blood.

Merlin wondered dizzily if maybe there were some latent magic in Arthur’s own blood calling out to the fire that lingered behind Merlin's eyes, from the old, fearful ritual that gave Arthur birth? Or maybe this was just how they’d always felt together. Merlin gave up questioning for a bad job as he pulled ineffectually at Arthur’s long linen shift, tangling his ankles with Arthur’s feet and unwilling to give up the new, intriguing sensation of Arthur’s tongue (Arthur’s _tongue_ ) sliding across his lower lip.

Arthur pulled away suddenly from where he was now half on top of Merlin’s chest, a hand wrapped thrillingly around Merlin’s worn belt. Merlin would absolutely never admit to whimpering and feeling chilled at the space between their bodies. It was satisfying, at the least, that Arthur’s cheeks were pinked and his hair mussed every direction. “Merlin. Hang on.”

“What– Arthur, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing wrong, nothing. You’re quite sure you want to continue?”

Merlin was sure his face was completely red as he swallowed twice, nodded instead of trying to speak. He couldn’t look away from Arthur’s gaze, fixed and suspended like a rabbit in front of a hawk.

Instead of trying to talk, he reached forward and tugged one more time at Arthur’s nightclothes. This time, Arthur reached down and drew his shift up over his head, shoulders flexing up and Merlin shifting in uncomfortable arousal. In one quick move, Arthur had Merlin’s tunic and shirt pushed up as he leaned down to lick across the top of a bony hip. Merlin squeaked at the unexpected bolt of sensation and clutched desperately at Arthur’s bare, very warm shoulders.

The prince paused and propped his chin on Merlin’s waistband, looking up as Merlin bit his lip and vacillated. He’d resolved earlier to be confident and give Arthur no reason to change his mind but… there was no sign of Arthur’s usual impatience on his face. And so far Merlin felt he’d been getting a significantly better education than he’d ever gotten with a sword in times past, so. After a false start he asked, “Arthur, when we… is it going to hurt?”

Arthur’s expression softened abruptly in a way that made Merlin’s breath catch. “No, Merlin. With men… there’s just a need for time and care. You’ll be taking me though, not the other way ‘round.”

Merlin made a strangled sound, and thought for a moment he might actually faint. Instead his hips gave an embarrassing, automatic jerk upwards. Arthur was chuckling a little at him, looking smug and relaxed as though he’d gotten away with something. Merlin couldn’t help stammering his outrage.

“But… you’re the prince! You can’t! I can’t! I would be sentenced to _death_ if–!”

Arthur climbed up to pin Merlin down with a broad hand on his chest, raising an eyebrow and peering down an aristocratic nose, looking stupidly glorious despite the silliness of his hair still ruffled up. “Yes, I’m the prince, not that you’ve ever cared a whit about it. I’m also bigger than you, stronger than you, and the one of us who knows what he’s doing. So tonight, for once in your stubborn life you’re going to listen and do as I say.”

Merlin was well aware he might sound childish if he pointed out his few extra inches of height to Arthur's, and decided the better part of wisdom would be ending this line of conversation by pulling Arthur and his mouth much closer.

Arthur seemed wholly amenable to continue kissing while deftly undoing both Merlin’s trousers and his wits, but also began murmuring very distracting directions. While Merlin was gasping helplessly at the slide of Arthur’s long, uninterrupted skin against his own lanky jumble of legs and ribs, Arthur guided his hand over to their cocks and said in a soft, rough voice, “just hold, like that.” The brush of lips on his ear forced a moan out of Merlin, unexpectedly loud in the quiet. When he did as Arthur said there was a thrilling rush of wet heat between them and the prince whispering, “that’s right, good.”

Time slipped like steam through Merlin’s fingers, snapshots of moments like discovering if Merlin gripped low on Arthur's back the prince would wiggle just a bit, or Arthur slapping Merlin’s hand onto his hair so Merlin would hold him in place (Arthur’s _teeth_ glancing between shoulder, nipple, ribs) _._ Then somehow they were back on their sides, with Merlin struggling very hard to do more than pant helplessly against Arthur’s chest and he felt Arthur stretch away and fumble at the side table. For a long minute or two Merlin didn’t quite put together what was going on until Arthur said, “move your hand over by mine.”

Then Merlin froze completely, mouth open and watching the fever-dream spectacle of Arthur moving slowly with a finger inside himself. Arthur grinned at him, nudging Merlin’s shin with a foot and asking “unless you want me to finish up without you?”

Merlin scrambled to comply as Arthur said wild and surreal things like _get plenty of salve on your hand, now this,_ _just the tip at first_ and Merlin wondered absently–if his heart stopped and he died in Arthur’s bed, would Gaius have to resurrect him just so Uther could run him through with a sword for despoiling his son–then Arthur rolled his hips and groaned a little and told Merlin, “you’re doing it right,” and Merlin felt a wave of sharp hunger overtaking the last of his nerves.

Edging slowly inside Arthur while draped across his back reminded Merlin oddly of being in battle. There was the clamor of Merlin’s heartbeat in his ears and the struggle to catch his ragged breath. There was Arthur, with his jaw clenched and deep bronze hair clinging to sweat on his forehead, saying _hold still_ , _push up harder,_ or _I won’t break_ for interminable seconds or hours. There was the melting heat of Arthur’s body around Merlin’s own, so intense Merlin worried he’d wounded Arthur somehow, and he gasped out the question once, twice until Arthur growled and told Merlin to shut up and move and Merlin cut him off mid-word with a soaring spiral of pleasure jolting up his spine and Arthur gasping and pushing back.

Just like always, there was a rhythm hidden inside the apparent opposites of everything they were. Merlin sank his face into the back of Arthur’s hair, held on and thought, I belong to you, and let go.

Later, Merlin felt like there had indeed been a battle, except he was the tattered chainmail left on the floor of the armory as the army returned, disassembled into various patches of links. Only good to be melted down and reforged. He’d thought that when he finally had sex he’d feel older, maybe, but instead he just felt a jumble of pieces Arthur had chipped off to fall on the ground. Now he knew what Arthur’s arms felt like around him, what would it be like for the prince to slap him on the shoulder when passing at the training grounds? When Arthur looked back with a brilliant smile or sarcastic eye roll as Merlin stood behind his chair at feasts, would Merlin be able to keep on his feet, knowing what Arthur looked like coming apart underneath him? There’s no putting the chain mail back together, Merlin thought idly, then decided this was all far beyond his faculties for tonight.

“I always knew you would kill me,” he muttered, and Arthur laughed at him like usual. Except this time the laugh was buried in a shoulder as Arthur lay with an arm thrown across Merlin’s stomach.

When Merlin finally took in a deep breath and went to crawl off the bed to leave, he was drawn back abruptly with implacable fingers on his hip and Arthur sank his teeth lazily into the bottom of his neck for a moment until Merlin went boneless, back on the down pillows that felt almost too puffy and luxurious against his head.

“It’s late, don’t bother wandering 'cross the whole blasted castle,” Arthur murmured. Merlin ignored the goosebumps rising from hearing that tone of voice back in his ear. “Tell Gaius you slept on the cot in my antechamber.”

Merlin felt a helpless grin creeping across his face, while the prince’s eyes were thankfully closed. “Besides, it’ll make it much faster for you to draw me a bath first thing.” Merlin threw back an elbow in response to this, but Arthur retaliated by pinching his arm while Merlin yelped reproachfully.

“Figures, you thinking only of material comforts while taking advantage of your poor, overworked servant.”

“Go to sleep, Merlin.”

A few short hours later, Merlin uncharacteristically did as he was bid on the early side, staggering out of the warm bed and down to the kitchens, still more than somewhat reeling. He didn’t remember an instant of the two trips back and forth before Arthur was safely installed in the bath, and Merlin could tip back face first onto the bed.

Arthur sighed up at the ceiling while his manservant snuffled and snoozed a few feet away, stoically ignoring how he had the only piping hot bath in the whole castle as the first snow of winter drifted past the window.


End file.
